


Roll You Like Dice

by summerstorm



Category: Disney RPF
Genre: F/F, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-27
Updated: 2009-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You need to relax," Selena says, holding Demi by the shoulders and pressing down until Demi stops fighting, sits still on the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roll You Like Dice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Selena stripping to one of Demi's songs" at [**tweendom_anon**](http://community.livejournal.com/tweendom_anon/). I started this thing last... month and got halfway through it (well, a fourth into it if we go by word count) and somehow the other day I realized it was stupid of me not to finish when it would be super easy to and maybe someone would like to read it, so here you go. Title from _Bette Davis Eyes_.

"You need to relax," Selena says, holding Demi by the shoulders and pressing down until Demi stops fighting, sits still on the bed.

Demi sighs. "I'm fine." And she _is_. Selena thinks Demi's feeling high-strung because she keeps flinching whenever Selena touches her, but it's not Demi's fault Selena keeps walking up to her from behind and not giving her a heads-up before she wraps her arms around Demi—sometimes when she's being interviewed, red carpet or green carpet or guy with camera in random hallway, which is more than enough to put Demi on edge in the first place. But anyone would flinch in that situation, Demi thinks. Besides, if she happens to be in a comfortable environment, it's a sign of, like, inner peace or whatever that she gets distracted enough to be so unaware of her surroundings. It's the polar opposite of anxiety.

Selena still glares at her, gluing her to the mattress with the—with the power of her _eyes_, basically, and presses play on the hotel room's mini system.

Demi's spent most of the day wallowing in the misery of releasing an album too soon and too under the arm of Disney's law, a way to try to put into perspective that her third album is really barely just under the _hand_ of Disney's law, rather than the entire arm, because if you look at it like that the lower amount of executive changes is definitely an improvement, so the first song that comes on is _Trainwreck_, which is kind of appropriate, in an ironic sort of way.

"Fitting," Selena comments offhandedly, for probably different reasons. It still takes Demi longer than it should to realize Selena's implying that she's mentally unstable.

"Did you just insult me?" she asks, mock-offended, and Selena shuts her up with a flick of her wrist.

Demi might have to address that issue sometime. She doesn't even internally choose to comply to Selena's wishes before doing just that. It's automatic and it could potentially get her in trouble, and Demi doesn't particularly like not being in control of every situation. She tilts an eyebrow at Selena, and Selena looks away, adjusts the volume of the music. Demi has a vague suspicion there'll be dancing involved, because if you put Selena and music together in a room there is always, to different degrees of dignity, going to be dancing involved. But generally Demi gets to dance too, and Selena should know by now that her own songs do nothing for her in terms of stress relief.

Then Selena turns around, walks forward like she's stepping into place for a choreography, and slips into something of a stage persona—not entirely, but she looks straight at Demi with a confidence that wasn't there five seconds ago, and her every movement is sharp, clear—she tilts her hips twice, left and right, nothing half-hearted about it.

It's funny, mostly, like she _is_ actually getting ready to follow a choreography, though Demi's not sure why she has to stay on the bed for this until Selena smirks at her and flips up the lapel of her jacket. Demi has to chuckle, because apparently there was a real reason why Selena didn't hand over her jacket when they came in, and it wasn't that she was cold. Which means that _this_—this little show or whatever it is Selena's trying to do—is not just stupid, it's _planned_.

Then Selena takes _off_ the jacket, in a way that Demi guesses is supposed to be seductive, but comes off as ridiculous enough to make her laugh. "Is this what I think it is?"

Selena doesn't answer, just shrugs with her mouth, suggesting that Demi's gonna have to stick it out if she wants to find out—a harmlessly mocking gesture, followed by the undoing of her ponytail. Selena's hair falls in waves all over her shoulders, and she shakes her head until it settles down messily around the frame of her face.

Selena purses her lips like she's getting ready for battle, and rolls her eyes with a standoffish shrug when Demi shakes her head and urges her to go on, vaguely waving her hand. It could be fun. It could be _hilarious_, is what Demi's thinking in particular. She's sure Selena wouldn't take it personally if Demi started laughing in the middle of one of her _moves_.

Which are good moves, mind, girl can dance, but the context dismisses the skills pretty much entirely.

The music picks up, and Selena tries to keep her gestures in time with the lyrics, except the music's about being crazy and Selena looks like a feline, arm movement included. Maybe that's her take on schizophrenia, Demi thinks.

"That's not what I was thinking about when I wrote that, but okay," she says. Selena reaches down to tug at her top and pull it over her head in one swift motion, running her hand across her stomach, the skin that her white tank top leaves uncovered, and highlighting the curve of her hip. Demi giggles despite herself. "Cue shirt off, awesome," she says, blinking.

Selena waits until there's a lull in the vocals to mutter, "You're not taking this seriously."

"I thought that was the point. Wasn't it?" Demi snorts. "Are you trying to make me _hot_, Selena? 'Cause if you are, it ain't workin'."

The answer to her concern comes in the form of a shake of the head, like Selena thinks Demi wouldn't grasp the concept of a strip-tease—it's funny, okay?—if it bit her in the neck, which does have some truth to it. Demi's okay with things biting her in the neck, when 'things' are Selena's teeth and the phrase is taken sort of literally. Not to draw blood, but the pressure, the scraping, that's nice. The concept of a strip-tease, though, can go jump off a cliff for all Demi cares. It's just—_funny_. Selena's right in front of her, wearing jeans and a white tank top that sees through to her lacy pink bra, and it couldn't be any less sexy. Demi thinks if she took pictures, maybe, possibly, there would be some use to it. Except they're famous and taking pictures that could be considered suggestive is about as risky as running away from the paparazzi and going down on your secret girlfriend in an alleyway when you're not even sure you've lost them yet.

Both of which Demi's done before, to scratch the itch, and both of which fortunately turned out okay, but she's not pushing her luck.

And then Selena unclasps her bra and pulls it off from under her tank top, her practically _see-through_ white tank top, and maybe, maybe she looks different all of a sudden, maybe the situation seems different all of a sudden, and maybe Demi's mouth falls open a little.

Selena smiles, half amused and half coy, and says, "You're so easy," which Demi's brain refuses to fully process in favor of taking in the picture before her eyes. Selena's licking her smile away, nibbling at her lower lip; her hair's wildly calling out for a brush, and she's somehow popped the button on her jeans open, which accentuates her hips even more than they usually do. Her dark nipples peek through from under her top, and there's something about it that's either debauched or ready to be, something that sends a buzz to Demi's head as Selena tugs her jeans down over her hips, leaning sideways to offer Demi a view of her back, the wavy line from her neck to her ass, and Demi finds herself holding onto the edge of the bed to keep from getting up and touching Selena.

But Selena's not trying to wind her up, Demi realizes, as Selena takes a step forward and looks down to make eye contact, lock in Demi's glance, practically a staring contest to deny Demi the chance to focus on what arrives blurry at the edges of her vision, Selena's small hands pulling the tank top over her chest and not letting Demi look.

It doesn't take long for Demi's eyes to start itching, and she blinks fast, meets Selena's mouth when she opens them again. Selena's now close enough to touch, and she bends her knees slightly to put her face at Demi's eye level, close enough to kiss. Demi can't help but look down at where Selena's tongue darts out between her lips, and suddenly Selena's hands are on hers, and hers are on Selena's hips, fingers brushing soft cotton and Selena guiding them down, taking her underwear off with them.

Selena stands back upright, and Demi stops pretending she's got a point against Selena slow-stripping in the middle of a hotel room for her, because she doesn't have one. She has a lot more clothes on than she feels she should, and she's got Selena's bare chest in display right before her eyes, where she could, where she _does_ duck down to capture a nipple in her mouth, to make Selena squirm until Selena's pushing Demi back and climbing on top of her, straddling her thighs and kissing her wet and dirty, like she only does when she's tired and _wants_.

"You haven't followed through," Demi whispers against Selena's mouth.

Selena blinks at her, eyes big and wide, and says, "Uh?"

Demi chuckles, says, "That was a pretty half-assed attempt at whatever you were trying to do," and Selena grins wide and mouths Demi's face down to her jaw, her collarbone, "and I'm still fully dressed," which prompts Selena to take off her tank top for good, first, and then stick a hand down Demi's pants.

"You're losing weight," Selena points out detachedly, and Demi laughs, a huff, really, because Selena makes it sound like it's a bad thing, but she forgets about it the second Selena's fingers slip between her legs. "And I think I did alright," Selena says, somewhere between accomplished and just gloating, and follows Demi's lips with her mouth when her thumb first grazes Demi's clit and Demi's head falls back.

Selena likes kissing. This isn't new to Demi; she's known since before she kissed Selena herself, though she didn't know the degree to which Selena likes kissing until she experienced it first-hand. Selena likes kissing so much you never know how she's gonna react to it, but it's always a positive emotion—from peacefulness to sexual arousal, she can become giddy and giggly from it, or fall asleep with Demi's lips still pressed to the side of her mouth. This time Selena's hand stops moving, pulls away to rest on top of Demi's stomach, and she just _chills_, kisses Demi slow and thorough, easy, making good her implicit promise of soothing Demi down, taking all this alleged tension off of her.

And it's working, it is; Demi feels warm all over, nowhere close to sleep but rather to a certain awareness of her surroundings, of the fact that she's _almost_ on edge, that she can sense every unevenness on the skin of Selena's thighs, hear every tiny whimper when Selena seemingly forgets she can breathe through her nose, and feel the small of her back shiver against Demi's fingers, break into goosebumps that are barely there for an instant and then vanish like they never even existed at all. She can tell seconds before Selena pulls it over Demi's head that this is where her t-shirt's journey ends, and when the fabric's still in contact with her shoulderblades, she already knows that, once she's done with this, Selena's hands are going straight under her bra.

Maybe it's habit that lets Demi be aware of this, or the sudden rush of clarity to her head when the music stops, or the knowledge that Selena finds a sick sort of satisfaction in timing how long it'll take Demi to become annoyed enough with her bra and unclasp it herself, even when the point is keeping Demi's stress comatose and away.

Selena stops playing almost immediately, though, hands back out free on Demi's ribs, and pushes Demi back onto the mattress, readjusting her thighs at both sides of Demi's waist, further up until her back's arching up like a panther to keep on reaching Demi's neck with her mouth.

"You comfortable?" Demi says, though the words come out croaked.

"Hm," Selena replies with a nod, ducking to lick a spot towards the back of Demi's neck, and her hips move forward, wet heat meeting Demi's belly with a purr. That's when it dawns on Demi that there's a lapful of very willing, very naked Selena right on top of her, and it feels like such a waste to let her spend more than a very short while contorted into resembling a freakishly large cat and doing nothing else.

By the way the contact of her hips with Demi's ribs increases, there's definitely not nothing else Selena wouldn't mind doing.

It's almost instinctual for Demi to grab Selena's ass and bring Selena's weight down to her knees, pull her so close Selena's position isn't enough for their faces to meet anymore. Then Selena _gets_ it, gets what Demi's trying to do, and crawls forward over her chest until her thighs are at both sides of Demi's head. Demi's arms bend around them, and her hands slide easily down to Selena's calves, holding them down as her mouth settles between Selena's legs and Selena _gasps_, whimpers at the first touch of her tongue, and it all goes southwards from there—Selena leaning back to hold onto sheets as Demi's tongue meets her clit or thrusts inside her, Demi's hand making its way under Selena's thigh, across her own chest, inside her panties.

Something inside Demi goes off when she touches herself, a close countdown to detonation, and Selena's over her, sitting on her face, making these wet, delightful noises, moans breaking through her throat when Demi picks up the rhythm. There are no interruptions, no lulls, nothing until Selena goes still and her calves shudder under Demi's fingers, her orgasm pulsing against Demi's tongue as she softly licks up the aftershocks.

It's quick after that, so quick Demi's actually surprised when the spasms begin hard and start losing intensity almost immediately, so fast it's over before Selena's nestled properly against her side, head on Demi's shoulder.

Demi exhales loud after a few seconds, an unspoken signal for Selena to say something if she wants, which she usually does. This time Selena breathes in more than once before whispering, "I feel bad now," which is so not even in the vicinity of what Demi expected to hear. "I mean, this was supposed to de-stress _you_." Demi shrugs, and Selena goes on, "I feel like a pillow's crawled into _my_ stomach."

"No wonder you don't feel so good," Demi points out quietly, vowels ripping uncomfortably through her throat.

They lie there for a minute, just breathing, catching up with the world, before Selena decides that no, this is not actually their plane to board. Her hand creeps down from Demi's shoulder down to her belly; she says, "You're not chill enough yet," slides off the bed, and pulls Demi's pants down.


End file.
